


32 Minutes to Paris

by aru_dight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a 5 Seconds of Summer Song, Bathroom Sex, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Rebound Relationship, Reminiscing, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Exile, Sexual Tension, Smut, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 10:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14851268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aru_dight/pseuds/aru_dight
Summary: Everyone has rules they live by.  Though, some rules are just broken more easily than others. A notorious rule-breaker, Hermione's exile awaits. Will Draco be able to find the courage to get her back before she's lost to him forever?  Inspired by the song "Want You Back" by 5 Seconds of Summer.Prompt:I remember the freckles on your backAnd the way that I used to make you laugh'Cause you know every morningI wake up Yeah I still reach for youWritten for the Apples and Quills "Happy Birthday Draco Fest".





	32 Minutes to Paris

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank my betas, NeverNik and Lady Cray, for proofreading this fic. Big shout out to the members of Apples and Quills their camaraderie and support towards this fest, and daswhoiam for organizing this fest. Cheers to you, dear reader, for reading and supporting this fic and the fest. I had fun writing this. Feedback, reactions, and rants are welcome! Enjoy reading! This fic is a three-chapter fic, and will be updated within the week.

**_CHAPTER 1: PROMISES ARE MEANT TO BE BROKEN_ **

 

Our lives are forever monopolized by rules. To those who lightly throw unsolicited advice that one must precariously live threading over the edge - devoid of rules or inhibitions - are high-class hypocrites. Everyone has rules they live by.  Though, some rules are just broken more easily than others.

Since she was a child, hubris had always been her mortal flaw. Now, she was all grown up, almost 24, it was the catalyst to the climax of the tragedy that was her life. For Hermione Granger, her pride was something she held on to with a fierceness that was only rivaled by her loyalty and bravery. It was a rule she couldn’t easily break.

She had overestimated herself once again. Her fall was a spiralling nightmare of constant rejection and extreme self-loathing and doubt.

She laughed bitterly at the chilly atmosphere of her dark one-bedroom apartment. The blinds were closed, just as they had been for months now, the only light coming from a lone lamp in the center of the sitting room.

The bright autumnal sunset had no place in here. Or anything bright, really.

The lease was expiring soon. And she had come to a decision.

It was time to move on. There was nothing tying her to this place anymore.

Hermione shook her head.That was silly of her; there really wasn’t anything in the first place. Only ethereal illusions and unfulfilled desires.

The fireplace tinkled a merry tune, letting her know that someone was  requesting a floo call. The options to choose from of who could be calling were limited.

Her friends. Her boss, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Ron - as if she’d answer any of his social calls now. Her potential supervisor - if she accepted that open vacancy.

Or it could be Draco.

Her heart stuttered in her chest, constricting at the remote possibility. Then realization dawned on her that it was too impossible, and her spirits sank just as fast as that realization. She knew him too well, and even that fact hurt to dwell upon. He was true to his words, despite his reputation. It was his way, or none at all.

Hermione couldn’t live like that any longer.

Mr. Laurent’s thick French accent carried over the silence. His big booming voice occupied the space. “Hermione, there you are. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages.”

“I apologise for the inconvenience, Mr. Laurent,” Hermione peered at the foreign man through the flames.

Kingsley introduced them not too long ago for a potential position in the French Ministry. Apparently, the Ministry thought that Hermione could both be a diplomat and a curse-breaker in the same breath.

“Have you come to a decision? About the job?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And?”

“I-I accept.”

“Is that it?” Bushy eyebrows momentarily knitted together, rimming the top of his round spectacles.

“Excuse me?”

The confusion was gone, replaced with sparkling glee. “Excellent! Your new partner will fetch you next week with a portkey. I already see you’ll be a glittering jewel in the French Ministry! Kingsley said you’re one of the very best curse-breakers there is.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Mr. Laurent. Kingsley, too.”

“Just telling the truth, my dear.”

“May I ask a favor, sir?” She cleared her throat.

“Anything, my dear. Do not hesitate to ask! Come on, let me hear it.” Mr. Laurent spoke too fast. “Speak up, girl!”

“I want to travel by plane, if you don’t mind.”

“By muggle airplane?”

“Yes. I want to see Paris before heading to the French Ministry.” The lie slipped, as smooth as silk.

“Ahh. Paris is such a beauty, she will enchant you even if you see her every day. I’ll let Derek arrange everything.”

Hermione wondered who Derek was, but Mr. Laurent was processing too fast for her to keep up with him.

“Thank you, Mr. Laurent.”

The connection ended as her long-winded, shivering sigh began. The tears came a few hours later, while she was lying on her bed, drenching the pillows.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

 _Five months ago:_ _  
_ _  
_ _Chudley Cannon’s victory party_ _  
_ _eXcite Club, London_

  
  
Hermione sighed.

Whiskey wasn’t so bad, after becoming  used to its acidic burn ramming down her throat. Clamping her nostrils together, she chugged the shot glass with the bottom high in the air.

Even though the bar was literally a mass orgy begging to happen - music blasting from the speakers beating like a wild erratic pulse, bodies grinding together in a cacophony - she was focused on only one scene. Stuff the macho bar fight brewing in the corner, or the pornographic display of affection between two lovers by the balcony, even the men in her vicinity undressing her with their eyes.

The other woman was a bombshell kind of pretty. High, perky breasts were barely contained by her flimsy red tube top. Artificially-tanned legs, standing like skyscrapers, were clad in a short midnight-blue leather skirt. Pearly white teeth were set apart by an appalling red shade of lipstick.

Hermione thought she could pass herself off as a woman with a wonderful personality. They could have been friends. If said woman wasn’t draping herself all over Ron.

Hermione’s heavily kohled eyes twitched at the way the famous Ryland heiress whispered something stupidly seductive in his ear.

Tamara Ryland now looked more like bloodsucker to her. More like an attention-seeking –

“Hermione, are you okay?” Harry slurred his question.

She quickly averted her eyes from where she stared.  

“Yeah, just a little light-headed.” She topped the lie with a light-hearted giggle to suffuse her nervousness. Getting caught acting pathetic wasn’t on her agenda.A determined expression crossed her face. “I’ll get more drinks.” She was invited here to have fun; she’ll be damned if she’ll let anybody ruin it for her.

Ginny wagged a shaky finger at her from Harry’s side. “All right, ‘Mione. Don’t get lost, now! We don’t want you ending up in a stranger’s bed!” She giggled, only to stop and hiccup, then giggled again.

  _Great,_ thought Hermione. _It would appear that everyone here is sloshed._ Her own thoughts sounding bitter, even to her  inner ears. _Well, everyone except me._ And that only made her all the more upset.

She stormed from the private booth to the darkest parts of the bar. Away from Ron and his new squeeze.

“One Bloody Mary, booth 4.” Hermione pointed to the Chudley Cannon’s private booth. In this bar, that was as good as a free pass for anything. Even an hour’s worth of make-out session with this hot bartender.

A crisp, mocking laugh burst her reflective bubble.

“Can you even handle your liquor?”

“None of your business, arsehole.” Hermione growled, sharply turning her head to the mystery meddler. Only to blink in confusion, her mouth dragging to the floor.

“Hello, Granger.”

Hermione closed her mouth after licking her dry lips.  

“Malfoy?”

Lean and tall, blond and gray-eyed, Draco Malfoy stood only an arm’s length away from her. A wolfish smirk lit up his face in a dangerous way. “My eyes are right here.” He made the corresponding sign while snickering.

The bartender bit  back a smile.

“Disgusting.” She made a face before glaring at the startling blond with all she got. She hung her nose in the air and walked away.

He never changed, she thought to herself. Same old arrogant Malfoy.

Her tail was already turned when she realized she forgot her bloody drink.

“Ugh, I can’t believe this!” Hermione dragged herself back to the bar.

He was still there, amused smirk still in place, leaning against the obsidian counter with his arms crossed.

Ignoring him, she grasped the chilled wine tumbler and brought it to her lips.

In the midst of the thick, undulating crowd, she spotted Ron and Tamara Ryland all but going at it in the middle of the dance floor. They were wrapped in each other like a snake mating ball.

Her vision turned a full 360 degrees, from normal to buffalo-triggering red.

Desperately, she chugged the alcoholic beverage so fast that rivulets of vibrant red liquid dripped from the corners of her mouth and down the column of her throat.

“Weasley’s an idiot,” Draco drawled.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, ready to fall and drag mascara streaks on their way down. She didn’t have the heart to keep them from falling, much less spar with Draco Malfoy.

“I expected that from him,’ he mused.’ You, on the other hand, are such a disappointment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He looked down at her, his face more serious than she was comfortable with. “It means...” he whispered as he leaned closer. Her breath caught.

“I expected better.”

Hermione hadn’t a clue how to decipher that.

“Jerry, two shots of whiskey for the lady. No Bloody Marys this time, she looks mad drinking those. Put it on my tab.”

“Hey!”

“Here.” He shoved the shot glasses the bartender slid their way. “This might loosen you up.”

Hermione snorted, but downed the alcohol with a begrudging grimace.

The moment came when the warm buzz and tinted haze of drunkenness finally possessed her, which made her bold and impulsive.

She whooped. “Fuck it, I’m going to dance!”

“Whoa, easy.” Draco caught her as she stumbled. Stupid heels! He smelled of mint and aftershave. Who knew those gray eyes had flecks of blue in them?

It felt like an eternity, being supported by his lean frame that felt solid enough to ensure the moment wasn’t a kind of wet dream.

“Get your hands off me!”

Her struggle to repel from his touch, and his mutual propensity to do the same, only prompted a collision, causing their to align and rub together for one delicious second.

She heard him hiss, but failed to hear her own gasp.  
It felt too good - the hard muscle underneath his shirt creating friction with her unbound breasts beneath her silk dress.

“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”Hermione’s eyes narrowed, but in truth she was slowly becoming  drugged by those quicksilver eyes.

“Drowning my sorrows. How about you?” He was stiff and tense everywhere.

“Same.”

A heavy bass blasted from the speakers, breaking the spell which took hold of them. It continued in slow intervals.

The silence in between, monopolized by the steady hum of human sounds, threatened to break the threshold which kept the swirling sexual energy at bay.

“I should go,” Hermione muttered.

“Yes, you should.”

They parted, heading in opposite directions, but all they did was run in circles. A weak attempt at cutting the invisible twine tying them together.

Hermione restlessly wandered the dance floor. She danced with so many different men their faces seamlessly melded together into nothing. They dug their greedy hands into her hips, but they didn’t induce even a smidgen of the same sensations Draco Malfoy induced in her. All the while, his persistent presence haunted the periphery of her vision.

His intense stare bore down on her. She swore she could feel him reach out to her by gaze alone.

Women shot him coy smiles, thrusting their breasts towards him as they passed by.

She couldn’t blame them. Malfoy looked like he was straight out of a _GQ_ magazine. So why was she tempted to bite their heads off? Not like Barbie doll decapitation, but more along the lines of a lioness tearing her prey apart.

She splashed cold water on her face. It didn’t cool her down, nor did it calm the restlessness bursting out of her skin.

Someone entered the washroom while she was still bent on the sink. They closed the door with a heavy thud.

“I’m still here,” Hermione called out.

“That’s the point.”

She gasped and suddenly stood erect at the sound of that husky voice. Draco stared at her reflection in the mirror.

“What are you doing here?”

With every step he took, the tighter she gripped the sink.

“You tell me, Granger. Because right now I have questions of my own.” His hands came to rest on top of her own, fingers swirling the wetness remaining on her skin. “What would it be like to taste you? To feel you? And you know what? I think you’re asking the same things.”

She shivered.  “I-I don’t.”

“You’re a horrible actress.” He whispered harshly in her ear, then nipped her earlobe. “You can’t even slow down your own breathing, much less shrug nonchalantly at this point. Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me.”

“Fighting _you_ ? Fighting _it_ ? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I know you feel something. It’s a matter of time before you give in.”

Said Draco with such a straight face, such unbendable, simplistic logic.

She knew better than most to associate anything related to sex as “simplistic”.  Or anything related to Draco Malfoy, for that matter. There was something in his eyes that both lured and scared her.

Hermione shook him away, then faced him. “Why are you even pursuing me? I’m in love with somebody else, and you’re engaged to Astoria Greengrass. So, sorry if I can’t see any point in hooking up.”

Draco looked at her for a long time, as if considering her words.

“That’s true. There’s no point to us hooking up, if the time comes when Weasley stops pawing wealthy, big-breasted heiresses to notice you, and Astoria stops eloping with strange men.”

Hermione blinked. “She cheated on you?”

“The way you put it hurts my ego.”

“Nothing can hurt your ego. It’s massive. Probably indestructible, too.”

“Why are we still talking?”

She couldn’t believe she was considering this. “Shut up.”

It was as if “shut up” was their trigger - the button they pushed for rational thought to submit to their bodies’ desire.

Hermione grabbed hold of him, pulled him down so hard their teeth banged and ground together. He pulled away slightly, cupped her face, and took charge of the kiss. When their lips finally met, void of the earlier awkwardness, the sweetness was buried beneath the bitter aftertaste of alcohol and the intoxicating swipes of their tongues.

He lifted her off the floor and seated her on the cool formica countertop. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

The gladiator heels dug into his tight arse, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Draco’s shirt came off first. Shaking hands popped button by button. He shrugged it off with Hermione’s help. Her hands roamed the expanse of his chest, of pale skin and tight muscles. Delicious flesh, begging to be bitten and tasted. And she did, lips hesitantly fluttering from pectoral muscle to collarbone. She could feel his heart racing through her lips. His fingers tangled in her hair, all but driving her head where her kisses seared his skin.

He tilted her head upward by her hair.  “Stop,” he interrupted, eyes glazed.

“Why?”

“My turn.”

Draco palmed her breast through her dress, making her nipples stand to  attention under his hands.

It was automatic, the response. Like two machines doing what they were geared to do.

“Shouldn’t we be doing this somewhere more private?” She asked, wriggling shamelessly, arching her back to his touch.

“Live a little.”

His other hand steadied her by the hips. Red silk crumpled and bunched in his tight fist. Her squirms caused the flimsy straps to drop down her shoulders and expose more of her chest.

“Someone might walk in on us,” Hermione panted.

“You think too much.”  

His mouth closed in around her nipple. She gasped, a choked sound of pleasure. It rendered her weak and speechless. The urge to thrash and gyrate and beg for more mounted as he licked slow, torturous circles. She moaned out loud at last.

She fisted the hard porcelain sink as if it was a lifeline. And when even that became too painful, her arms found solace around his neck.

“You can make noise, Granger,” Draco chuckled. It didn’t quite mesh with his already glazed, half-lidded eyes. “We won’t be heard.”

The artfully-placed mirrors on the side let her see how much of a recklessly vulgar portrait they posed. Her dress hitched to her waist, his  hardness temptingly pressed to her core, inconsequential pieces of clothing separating their naked bodies. The visual image brought a new wave of arousal to spike her system.

“How would you know?” She struggled to breathe. Draco delved between them, reaching for the parts entrapped by their tangled limbs.

He clicked his tongue. “Constant vigilance. You’re getting reckless, Ms. Granger.”

He found her wet and wanting as he parted her folds, tracing the distinct pattern of swollen flesh. He groaned. She opened her legs wider - she thought they couldn’t spread any wider.

Her body was on autopilot mode when it came to him.

  
“Fortunately, I really like my girls sloppy,” Draco said in a low voice.

She heard his fly zip down. He aligned his throbbing cock by her entrance, teasing her clit through her knickers. The heady scent of her arousal hung in the air, and he sharply inhaled it, like it was his personal brand of heroin.

“Please, Draco!” Hermione buried her face in the crook if his neck, clinging to him tightly. She found she couldn’t face him, but she desperately wanted him to move.

Either Draco was a mind reader, or he was impatient as she was. He fulfilled her sweet request. Her knickers were forcefully pushed aside, the thin waistband making marks on her hips.  

He sank into her, hot and thick, every heavenly inch embedding deeper.

Both of them shared a long, drawn-out moan.

“Fuck, Hermione, you feel so fucking good.”

It took Draco Malfoy’s impressive appendage for her to snap back into herself and gain a one- track mind.

“Move, Malfoy!” She ground out, rolling her hips the best she could from her position. “I don’t care if you did wandless magic. Good job. Do you want a little gold star? Sex is better than gold stars, so fuck me properly.”

“So she knows,” he growled appreciatively. He rewarded her with a grudging thrust. Her breasts shook and her breath caught, then continued a determined, unrelenting rhythm.

“Yes, she knows,” she mimicked. She met him stroke for stroke.

They moved together, mouths fusing, breath mingling. Hands, lips, and tongues hitting each other’s buttons in a frenzy. Their heavy breaths and moans echoed around the luxurious washroom of a five-star nightclub. The silencing charm placed upon it threatened to break.

“I’m coming!” Hermione cried out. Draco laved at a sensitive spot on her neck, just above her pulse point. She shook and trembled beneath his tension-hardened frame as he pummelled her. Her orgasm spiralled out of control until it crested to completion. It was like her blood turned liquid gold for a moment.

Her legs limply fell to the sides in wild abandon, spent and boneless.

Draco bit her neck and grunted his release. His sweat trickled from his forehead to hers as he pressed them together.

Gray eyes gazed upon brown eyes, and the moment was suspended between time and space. A zing of energy passed between them, intangible in nostalgia but tangible in the moment.

She swore that time seemed to stop when the bliss hadn’t completely faded and their mental faculties had yet to return.

An urgent banging on the door from outside made both of them jump away from each other.

The loss of contact felt like a disappointment to Hermione.

“Oi! Is someone in there? I really need to go to the loo!”

“Hold it!” Draco growled under his breath. He muttered more inconceivable words, possibly spitting out a few choice profanities.

“I can’t, man!”

Draco sighed. He pulled on his shirt fresh from the floor and buttoned it in a leisurely pace.

Hermione tugged her dress down her legs, smoothing herself the best she could. It was probably too late; her hair screamed “ravaged,” and her make-up bled and smeared in an obvious pattern of dishevelment - the compromised kind.

They walked out of the washroom; one following the other.

For a walk of shame, Draco strutted like a languorous peacock who owned the place. He sneered at the interrupter as if he had accosted him a big deal. She swore the guy quaked in his own mean leather boots and fake nose piercing.

Hermione hurried out the bathroom, one foot in front of the other, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone in sight.

He caught up with her, eventually.

“Let me take you home,” he said.

She shook her head. “You don’t need to do that for a one-night stand. It’s just not how it goes.”

“You don’t have a choice.” He took her hand in his.

Hermione sighed.

They landed in the shadowy facade of her flat. A flickering lamp post illuminated the contours of the building.

No goodbyes, no niceties exchanged for the night of mutual pleasure. She climbed up the stairs as he looked on from the shadows.

“Granger,” Draco called out before she opened the door. “Don’t fall in love with me.”

Hermione snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

That was their pact, their acknowledged agreement. The conversation that sealed their tragedy in stone.

A few days later, her doorbell rang. Hermione heard his voice from her flat intercom, while the nosy neighbors watched down from their their window blinds in rapt attention.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

  
  
_“Don’t fall in love with me.”_

Hermione broke the ultimate rule, and she was paying for it dearly - not just with her pride, but with her heart.


End file.
